


My Everything

by JeromeSankara



Series: TWD: Rickyl edition [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Amputation, Angst, Angst starts on Chapter 3, Childbirth, Established Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes, Fluff, Fluff Chapter 1 and 2, M/M, Married Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes, Mpreg, Nesting, Pregnancy, Prison, Rickyl Writers' Group, Season Three Walking Dead, Season Two Walking Dead, Sudden angst, The Greene Farm, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Walker Bite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 11:21:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15533115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeromeSankara/pseuds/JeromeSankara
Summary: Prompt: I'd like to see you write Rickyl Fluffy Mpreg in farm timeRick will do anything to protect the ones he loves. It's why he doesn't understand why Daryl still puts himself at risk to feed the group on the farm. Maybe it's his stubborn pride, or maybe it's their secret that makes Daryl think he still needs to prove himself.





	1. He's Mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HogwartsToAlexandria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HogwartsToAlexandria/gifts).



The second Rick watched Daryl fall before him, when he heard that rifle shot echoing right past his head, he thought he lost everything. Even when Rick could see the grazing wound on Daryl’s temple, could see his bewildered expression and hear his low rumbling voice, that thought still wouldn’t leave.

It was a thought Rick had felt twice before in his life. One when he had been shot and had been staring up at the whitening sky, feeling his blood rush out of his body, and the other… The other had been ten years ago. When Rick saw the blood. When Rick saw the wide blue eyes that were, for the first time, filled with fear.

Those thoughts continued filling his mind even as he still knelt down beside the bed, watching Daryl’s chest rise and fall with breath. Even when he knew that Daryl was fine, that thought of knowing he could have lost everything again… It left shudders down his spine.

Resting his arms on the bed, he perched his chin atop them and kept his eyes focused onto Daryl’s furrowed brow. Still pissed off while asleep. Rick held back a small chuckle. Even after all these years, there were little things that didn’t change. Daryl still had his head down around strangers, and he liked to be alone. His speaking was curt and he had a habit of glaring, even when he didn’t mean it.

‘Resting bitch face,’ was what Merle called it. Said it was a Dixon trait. Rick just thought it was  Daryl trait.

Daryl’s eyelids fluttered softly in his sleep, one that Rick had no intention to disrupt. He needed his rest, now more than ever. Which was why Daryl would be in for a rude awakening when he did decide to wake up… Rick had some choice words for him.

Idiot, endangering himself like that. Going off on his own. Worrying the shit out of him and Carl. You’d think after being together for nearly fifteen years, Daryl would know that Rick tended to worry.

Daryl only proved again that Rick had more than enough reason to worry.

Rick let his eyes wander, since it was the only thing he could do that wouldn’t wake Daryl up. He was a notoriously light sleeper, as he kicked Rick out more than enough times for tossing and turning and even a snore. He gazed across his chest, to the lashes of scars that were decades old now. To his side, where he could see the stitching that closed the small puncture wound. Daryl said he got stuck by one of his arrows.

This wasn’t the first time of Daryl getting himself hurt. Rick had told him time and time again to be careful with those damn things, and to put up his bow. They didn’t need to hunt right now.  _ Especially _ not Daryl.

Rick’s stomach coiled up as his eyes ran down a little farther, to the surgical scar just under Daryl’s navel. He swallowed down the memories that still felt like they happened hours ago. No, Daryl was fine. And he was going to continue to be fine. Hershel was a doctor. If they played their cards right, they could stay.

Offer protection for Hershel’s help. It was about all they could offer at this point. Hershel still refused to see reason about the walkers, how they couldn’t be saved. How the shell of the person was all that was left. That person was no longer in there.

“S’the matter?”

Rick jolted upright, eyes snapping to Daryl’s calm face. He had the gall to wear that stupid smirk on his face.

Scowling, Rick stood back up and sat onto the edge of the bed. “You really gonna ask me that?” Rick murmured, keeping his voice low. Hershel could come by at any moment. He would need to be careful about what he said, since he was sure Hershel still didn’t know.

Judging by his previous beliefs, Rick had no problem thinking that Hershel wasn’t… as ‘accepting’ as the rest of the group had been.

Flicking his eyes to the door, he dropped them back down to Daryl’s face. The smirk had faded. “Needed food,” Daryl plainly stated, rolling carefully onto his side. Rick caught the twitch of pain on his face even when Daryl thought he had successfully masked it.

“We have plenty,” Rick said, narrowing his eyes. “You had no business going out there on your own. At  _ all.”  _

Daryl huffed loudly, squinting back at Rick. “I ain’t helpless.”

“I know you’re not, but you-” Pausing momentarily, Rick sucked in a deep breath. “You need to be careful. Carl was worried. I was worried.”

Daryl just grunted in return, breaking eyecontact to stare into the far off corner. “S’not a big deal,” he murmured, even as Rick could detect a tone of guilt. He shifted on the bed, before resting his hand onto the empty space beside him. He still didn’t look up at Rick, but Rick could still see the faint crimson on his cheeks.

The sight melted the sternness and argument Rick had spent the past half hour forming in his head, and he snorted. “Use your words,” Rick teased, but shifted closer onto the bed anyway. He spared another glance to the door, gazing through the crack, but then felt a soft tug on his sweat-stained shirt.

“C’mon, officer,” Daryl groaned, giving another tug. Rick relented with a smile, carefully laying down beside Daryl, but kept the door in his peripherals. They had been lucky so far. No need to tempt that further.

Daryl seemed to have no care for it, though, not as he boldly pressed his lips to Rick. Rick recoiled, a sour expression on his face. “Did you eat raw again?” Rick grimaced, seeing the small bloodstains on his skin that he had yet to clean off.

Daryl grunted, which meant yes.

“Daryl,” Rick sighed loudly, plopping his head down onto the pillow. “You could get sick. The last thing you need is to-”

“You done babying me?” Daryl cut through, his eyes sharpening. Rick snapped his mouth closed.

There had been a couple noticeable changes to Daryl in the small weeks since they had been reunited. One was his aversion to the rest of the group, even more than Daryl would usually hide. Another was his constant urge to protect Carl. The more obvious out of the three had to be his temper.

Since Rick had nearly died from being shot, then add on the apocalypse, there was little confusion to why his mood seemed to sway so easily.

Falling quiet, Rick reached over and nudged Daryl, which the other man had no resistance against. He instead curled up almost directly against Rick’s chest, muttering under his breath as he did so. While Rick couldn’t hear the exact words, he suspected there was the occasional cuss thrown in for good measures.

RIck just pulled his arm around Daryl’s wide shoulders, resting his hand against his bare back. While there were still several scolds that Rick needed to get off of his chest, he could hold off. There were other more important things to talk about.

“How are you feeling?” Rick breathed, his eyes once again locked to the crack in the door.

“Fuckin’ dandy.”

“Daryl.”

Daryl muttered again, something about shoving it somewhere. “‘M fine. Been fine.”

Casting his gaze back down, Daryl was staring blankly into the folds of his shirt, brow furrowed. “Use your words,” Rick reminded him again, one of the few things that those therapy sessions actually helped with. Daryl had a habit of keeping everything inside. Rick wasn’t much better. It caused unneeded friction between them.

After a long sigh, Daryl turned quiet again, and Rick let him think. Plan his words. It may have been close to ten minutes before Daryl spoke up again.

“I… Don’t know what the fuck we’re gonna do, Rick,” Daryl murmured into his chest, so low that RIck almost couldn’t hear it past his usual gravely tone. “S’not gonna be safe here. Not safe anywhere.”

Rick paused before he spoke, wanting to collect his own thoughts. “We have time,” Rick reminded him, letting his arm drift down a bit. “Plenty of time.”

“Like fuck we do,” Daryl retorted, his voice hardening. The icy blue eyes latched onto Rick’s holding his gaze. “I don’t got long, Rick. Then they gotta know. Can’t hide it much longer.”

A familiar panic fluttered into Rick’s chest that he choked down. Glancing once more to the doorway, RIck met Daryl’s eyes again. Trailing his hand down a little farther, he let it rest onto Daryl’s waist. He ran his thumb across Daryl’s stomach, letting it fall into the surgical scar. “Shane knows. Lori knows. Carl knows. I don’t think it’s going to be much of a surprise to anyone. You’re almost out of the first trimester, after all.”

Daryl scowled up at him, and pushed a hand against Rick’s chest. “You calling me fat?”

“No!” Rick almost yelped, feeling that dread he hadn’t had to feel for ten years. It was too soon for these questions. Had to be too soon. Sneaking a glance down Daryl’s torso, he felt Daryl’s body stiffen up in response. “No, you’re not fat. You need to start gaining weight. Good weight. Not raw meat weight.”

Daryl growled softly, his eyes still narrowed at Rick. Please, Rick didn’t want to deal with the hormones. He had been lucky, though Rick certainly wasn’t going to say that aloud, to be in a coma during the first two months of Daryl’s new pregnancy. 

Neither had known about the pregnancy until the world ended, when Rick was still in the hospital and Daryl having taken Carl to stay with Shane and Lori. Shane told Rick about the night Daryl found out. About how he had never actually seen Daryl cry before that night. But then he came out of that tent the next morning like nothing had happened, and just continued hunting. He had denied any comfort from Shane, Lori or even Carl.

It left Daryl almost like an outsider to his own group. It sounded like Merle only made it worse, constantly dragging his baby brother around. It was sick to say, but Rick was glad he was gone. He had been holding Daryl under his thumb ever since he had been born. Daryl’s decision to marry a cop didn’t hold well with Merle, either. Nor did choosing to have children. There was a reason to why Carl had very few memories of Merle.

Shaking his head, Rick pulled himself back into the conversation. “That isn’t what I mean, though. You don’t have to be afraid of what they’ll think.” Hushing his voice, Rick leaned in closer and rested his lips against Daryl’s sweat-covered forehead. “They’ll just feel shitty that you hunted for them the same time you dealt with morning sickness and aches and pains, and didn’t let it stop you.”

“I puked when I gutted a deer.”

Rick snorted softly. “Poor darlin’,” he soothed, finally letting himself relax into the bed. He closed his eyes and focused on the soft sound of Daryl’s breath, dragging in and out in a slow rhythm.

The bed creaked softly as Daryl shifted his weight, pressing their bodies together and finally resting his arm across Rick’s side. Ever since Rick found the group, found Daryl and Carl, he took whatever moment he could to spend it together.

Their last moments together could have been their stupid fight the morning before Rick went on patrol. Petty shit that Rick couldn’t even remember now. It was why Rick still couldn’t understand just  _ why  _ Daryl insisted on proving himself to the group.

“We’ll tell them when you get back on your feet. No sooner.” Daryl sighed loudly into his chest in response, and Rick held back a sarcastic remark.

He could see the stress in Daryl every day, even before Rick knew about the pregnancy. Constantly watching every move he made around the group, trying not to be noticed, falling into the background… But if Rick and Shane were to lead this mishmash of a group, then Daryl couldn’t hide in the shadows forever.

“Don’t got anything for a kid,” Daryl muttered under his breath.

“We will scavenge. Hershel’s a doctor.”

“A vet ain’t the same as a doctor.”

Rick smirked faintly. “He’s got horses. I’m sure he’s had to pull a few calves or foals or-”

Daryl jerked his head up, nearly knocking into Rick’s chin. “If you think I’m lettin’ him shove his hand up my ass, I swear to  _ fuck-” _

“I’m joking!” Rick grinned, though the cold glare Daryl gave him was enough to send chills down his spine again. Daryl could be scary when he wanted to be, and with the help of rampant hormones, Rick couldn’t help but think that he may need a bodyguard from his own husband.

Growling under his breath, Daryl lowered his head again. “Ain’t funny,” he grumbled, but he fell silent when Rick pressed another kiss to his forehead.

There were just a few more rules that Rick had to lay down… Just like when Daryl had been pregnant with Carl. Just… a bit more heavily enforced this time. For Rick’s own sanity.

“No more hunting alone.”

Daryl grunted in response.

“You need to start taking your fair share of food.”

Another grunt.

“And you need to  _ rest.” _

“I ain’t dyin’,” Daryl complained, muffled into Rick’s chest. Rick decided to just roll his eyes in response.

Lifting his head again, Rick takes another moment to look over Daryl’s body. The arrow that had pierced him had been a bit too close for Rick’s own comfort, but he knew it was all in his head. The arrow was too high to hit anything precious. Hershel hadn’t said anything, either. His thumb paused on Daryl’s stomach, before he carefully slipped his hand down to press against the still flat surface.

Well, Rick imagined that he could feel a tiny bump, but Daryl had been adamant that he shouldn’t start gaining weight yet. Barely hit the twelfth week. Once they got past the first trimester, it would be all downhill from there, at least in Daryl’s eyes. There were still stretch marks that probably will never go away, and while Daryl would constantly hide them, Rick couldn’t bring it within himself to consider them anything but beautiful. A reminder of Daryl’s strength. He ran his fingers slowly across his stomach, imagining the life just beneath the surface.

Daryl shivered under his touch, and tucked himself even closer to Rick’s chest. He pulled his arm down to pin Rick’s hand against his stomach, refusing to let him move away.

“I ain’t going anywhere,” Rick soothed, though felt that pang of guilt, knowing that in this world, there were no guarantees. There may come a day where he breaks that promise. All he hoped was that it wouldn’t be anytime soon.

Pressing one more kiss to Daryl’s forehead, Rick secured his other arm around Daryl, refusing to let something as petty as space divide them.

These were the moments Rick lived for. The peaceful moments between them. When the rest of the world, good or bad, could fade away. Just them. The night he found them again, it was just like this. Together.

Daryl’s breath began to slow, and Rick listened as his partner finally slipped back into sleep in his arms. The road ahead of them was going to be hard, there was no doubt about that. Surviving alone would be hard, and tending to Daryl’s pregnancy which could be as erratic as it had been with Carl made it that much more difficult, but somehow, Rick wouldn’t change a thing.

As long as they were together, the rest of the pieces would fall into place.


	2. Safe Haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With every hour ticking closer to Daryl's delivery, the need for shelter only gets greater. Lucky for them, there's a prison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm pathetic and I love this tiny little universe too much. Have some more chapters. I'll probably keep adding more whenever I feel inspired.

“Only thing we can do is double back 27, swing towards Greenbull. Then, we push north, haven’t been through there yet.”

Rick raised his eyes to the others surrounding the map with enough scribbles and lines ran through it to play connect the dots. The others stared down at the paper, each with growing uncertainty. Weariness pulled on his bones as the Georgia sun baked down upon then, but Rick wasn’t looking for compromises.

“We can’t keep goin’ from house to house,” Rick rasped, slitting his eyes against the sun. As if suddenly reminded, a few people turned their heads to look back to the pick-up. There he stood, squinting down at his motorcycle tied to the bed of the truck, crossbow still in hand.

Letting out a low huff of air, Rick shook his head. “We gotta find a place to hole up for a few weeks.”

At his words, the man turned towards them, scowling. Rick’s spine prickled under the gaze, and he immediately looked away. If he wasn’t too careful, that bolt was gonna end up shot into his side. It wouldn’t be the first time in the last six months that Daryl had threatened it.

The group split up at that, as if Daryl’s glare had been felt by all of them, muttering excuses of getting more water. It was mostly just to avoid the storm looming over Rick’s head.

“He can’t take much more of this movin’ about,” Hershel murmured into his ear, almost making Rick jump.

Whipping his head back towards Daryl, Rick inwardly winced as poor, ignorant Lori approached him. Her offered bottle of water was just scowled at, along with a low mutter that Rick couldn’t hear. Rick just couldn’t understand how Daryl wasn’t  _ baking  _ under that stupid poncho he found.

Added layer of protection for the baby, he said. Helped cover up the bump, he said. No walker gonna be chewing through this, he said. Honestly, Rick had a feeling that the baby would come out half cooked from sitting inside the damn oven the poncho created.

“Don’t tell him that,” Rick muttered back, his eyes flicking down momentarily to the large swell of Daryl’s stomach. “He’ll straight up cut the baby out himself if he thinks he’s slowin’ us down.”

“Hey.”

Daryl’s rough voice quickly severed the conversation, not that Rick felt like continuing it anyway. Daryl had his crossbow loaded in his hands, a bolt already ready to be fired, and Rick felt a deep pit in his stomach.

“While the others wash their panties, let’s go hunt.”

Rick swallowed down his first instinct of a swift and sharp ‘no.’ That would only make Daryl wander off on his own to hunt. While Rick may have said before that this group was no longer a democracy, how Rick was the leader, everyone knew who actually did the ordering.

If there was something that came with Daryl’s heavily pregnant state, it was his brashness. The same man that would sit at the far end of the camp would now be the one constantly keeping patrols up, telling when they needed to pack up and start moving, keeping the group away from the herd, and practically dictatoring Rick’s every move. To anyone else, it was nothing but his idiotic stubbornness and, less gracefully put, his bitching. Rick, on the other hand, saw through the tough facade.

Daryl was scared.

He would never admit it, and he would sooner shove his crossbow down someone’s throat than listen to someone accuse him of such, but he was scared. Scared that at any moment, the baby they fought so hard to protect would come, and something would go wrong, just like with Carl. It had been a struggle with Carl, and there had been no added stressers of an apocalypse back then. Now there were no hospitals, no midwives, no epidurals, no nothing.

Just a vet and a few strips of cloth and a last bottle of expired antibiotics. It was a recipe for disaster that Daryl felt more than everyone.

It was why Rick let Daryl walk past him, holding that crossbow with white knuckles, and trying to ignore the shuffle in his steps that Daryl would have  _ never  _ had been caught dead with. All Rick could do was follow and try to be whatever Daryl needed. A stress relief, a partner, or a firm hand.

They had already been walking a mile before Rick finally caught the nerve to speak. “Daryl, we need to put together a plan,” Rick murmured, keeping his voice down even when Daryl had not found any tracks. “We can’t keep ignoring what’s comin’.”

“Yeah I can,” Daryl grunted in return, refusing to look back at Rick. “What happens is gonna happen. No use wasting energy frettin’.”

Another awkward minute of silence passed. Rick could hear a stream ahead, fresh water. He made a mental note of it just in case they needed to set up camp for the night. Daryl’s steps started to slow as well, his eyes to the ground in search of a set of tracks.

“I don’t got a calendar,” Rick started again, and Daryl’s shoulders tensed. “I’m pretty sure you’re past due.”

“No I ain’t. I got time.”

This was exactly what these conversations have gone like for the past week. Rick would discuss anything about the pregnancy, and Daryl would shut it down. Like he was trying to ignore it. In fact, Rick was sure that was what Daryl wanted the entire group to do. Ignore the pregnancy, and just keep moving. It was getting more frustrating by the hour.

Finally, Rick took a few quick steps ahead down the path and stood in Daryl’s way, pressing his hand directly against his chest. Of course, Daryl just about ran him over anyway, if just by bodyweight alone. “Daryl, stop,” Rick said, a sharpness to his voice. He just needed Daryl to listen. Just for a few minutes.

Finally, Daryl huffed and stared back at Rick, his tired blue eyes practically glassy, but still held that sharp scowl. Rick gulped. Even after all these years, Daryl still could look menasing if he wanted to be.

Clearing his throat, Rick lowered his voice. “We need to think about this. We have Hershel, and he’s going to help us, but we need a plan. We need to find a place to stay, start gathering supplies-”

“We got supplies,” Daryl snapped, pointing back towards the makeshift camp. “Found that shitty thrift store. Got clothes, bottles, just need formula. Not gonna find that anywhere ‘round here unless we raid the houses.”

Holding his tongue, Rick waited for Daryl to finish. “We need  _ medical  _ supplies. Like stitches. A clean pair of scissors. Need clamps. And if we have to have the c-sec-”

“I’ll be fucking dead by then.”

Daryl’s cold words made Rick stop short, his mouth still moving with unheard words. For the first time in weeks, Daryl’s shoulders sagged down, and his face turned blank. “We both know that, Rick. If shit goes down like last time…” Daryl trailed off, with those words too hard for even him to say aloud. He shook his head and dropped his gaze. He carefully moved the crossbow to his shoulder and dropped one hand down to the top of his stomach, rubbing small circles.

“Daryl, talk to me,” Rick sighed, trying to fight down his own doubts and fears, since Daryl had been echoing the same thoughts that had invaded his own head. Slipping his gun into his belt, he reached out carefully and pressed his palms against Daryl’s poncho-protected stomach. Even now, after all the turmoil they had to fight through in the last six months, those little movements just beneath the surface made flutters soar through his chest.

It was almost sick how the one thing Rick and Daryl had been trying to obtain for years decided to happen at the end of the world. When hope was bleak and civilization was gone.

It just wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. The world had already taken away so many things from both of them, and now they were on the verge of losing something precious. Just because the world decided to fuck itself.

Daryl’s hand tightened into the poncho, knotting his fingers into the fabric. He took in a sharp breath, one that physically shook his body. “S’not like I want to,” Daryl breathed, keeping his head down. “But I can’t fight shit like this. It ain’t like a walker, or a fucking bear. Either I die or I don’t. Either she dies or she don’t.”

Feeling his own heart squeeze painfully in his chest, Rick circled one hand to pull Daryl closer, pulling their bodies as close as Daryl’s stomach would allow. “You’re strong, Daryl. Stronger than with Carl. Had to be on bedrest for a month with him. Now, you won’t nap for half an hour without you telling me what to do.”

Daryl wheezed with what could have been a laugh, but his shoulders shivered. Rick carefully ran his hand up into his hair, tucking Daryl’s head to his shoulder. Between them, Rick could still feel the little wiggles of their child, one that Daryl deemed a girl. Daryl had said that Carl would be a girl, too, so Rick couldn’t claim mother’s intuition. Letting his fingers stroke through his feathery hair, Rick rubbed soothing patterns against his swollen stomach.

Rick couldn’t remember the last time they had a moment to just… Talk. They had been constantly moving for the past month, raiding houses, gutting them, maybe staying a few nights in a single house, then going to the next one. Night after night, an endless motion of trying to stay alive… But it was working.

Daryl was strong, Rick was strong. They had to stay strong.

Suddenly Daryl shoved against Rick’s chest, knocking him to the side. With no prior warning, Rick just flailed in an attempt to keep his balance and ended up falling on his ass. Though just as he opened his mouth to ask what the  _ fuck  _ that was about, Daryl had already swung his crossbow up from over his shoulder and fired a bolt. There was a soft thud a second later.

“Got supper,” Daryl grunted, barely looking at Rick still on the ground. Heaving his crossbow up over his shoulder again, Daryl calmly walked towards the downed lump of brown fur, only to loudly grunt in his attempts to lean over to grab it.

Trying to hold back a chuckle, since Daryl would probably chew him out for ‘making fun of his weight,’ Rick shuffled to his feet. He carefully rested his hand to Daryl’s lower back, a silent motion of ‘I got it,’ then looked down at the animal.

“Beaver,” Rick hummed. “Guess we are closer to water than I thought.”

“Just pick it up,” Daryl muttered, his pride of the hunt dampened by his own inability to bend over.

Patting Daryl carefully, Rick picked up the surprisingly heavy rodent-thing. Daryl just muttered under his breath while Rick tugged at the bolt, trying to pull it out without breaking it. That would certainly send him to the far edge of the camp to sleep tonight. Though just as he managed to free the bolt, turning to proudly show his accomplishment to his husband, Daryl was no longer beside him.

“Uh, Rick?”

Panic immediately rushed into his body, and he snapped his head up further down the path. He couldn’t see Daryl. Where was Daryl. He wasn’t allowed to go  _ anywhere  _ alone.

Rick only lunged a few feet down the path, though, before his blind panic was put to rest. Daryl was standing on the edge of the path, looking through a break in the trees. “Don’t do that!” Rick snapped, feeling his face starting to regain a bit of color. “You know I hate it-”

“Shut up and look."

Blinking, Rick finally took the last few steps and stood beside Daryl, then glanced through the break in the trees.

_...Oh.  _ That had  _ definitely  _ not been on the map.

“Pretty sure we can hole up there,” Daryl said, before grabbing the beaver out of Rick’s hand. “C’mon. I want water.”

* * *

Rick always liked the sound of crickets chirping through the night. It was peaceful. It meant safety. It meant there weren’t walkers breathing down their necks and about to burst through at any moment. What he would enjoy  _ more  _ than the sound of crickets at night would be the sound of Daryl’s snores.

“This is the third time we’ve been around,” Rick sighed, his steps slow to ensure that he and Daryl walked side by side. Daryl insisted that he checked the fence himself, as if there would be a spot Rick could have missed. It vaguely reminded Rick of when Daryl would constantly pace around the nursery, shifting furniture and changing where the diapers would be stored. If that was the case, then it was good that they had locked down on the prison when they did. At least inside the fences, it was safe. It would be much safer inside the  _ prison,  _ but not tonight. Maybe tomorrow.

Daryl reached out and pulled against a particular piece of fence, his eyes squinting in search of any flaw.

“You’ve already checked there.”

“Quit buggin’ me, woman,” Daryl grunted, tugging one last time before reluctantly letting go. His crossbow remained tight over his shoulder, ready to fire at a moment’s notice. A few walkers had been following their path, and whenever Daryl would get irritated with Rick, he would show it by stabbing them through the fence. Judging by the bodies lining the fence, Daryl wasn’t very happy.

Rick looked over his shoulder to the group sitting around the fire, eating the beaver that Daryl had caught. Daryl barely took three bites before starting to check the fence. He still hadn’t met Rick’s eyes the entire time during the walk.

“Hey,” Rick murmured, stepping back in front of Daryl to cut him off from going further. “It’s safe. We made sure it’s safe. Nothing is getting in or out.”

Daryl just glared at Rick from beneath his bangs and pushed past him to continue alongside the fence.

“Daryl, tell me what’s wrong,” Rick sighed, already tired of the constant guessing game of Daryl’s moods. It was almost worse than a baby. Was he hungry? Was he tired? Thirsty? Needed a diaper change? Daryl would surely kill Rick if he ever mentioned last week when he had been kicked in  _ just  _ the right spot and into his bladder. It had happened before, but for some reason, that particular time had sent him into such a crash that Rick feared Daryl would never show his face around camp again. Just because of a little, completely normal accident.

“Can’t,” Daryl grunted, without looking back.

“Yes you can,” Rick pressed. With two long strides, he was back beside Daryl again. He couldn’t understand how Daryl was not absolutely exhausted, if just because of carrying around so much more weight.

Letting out a louder-than-needed-to-be groan, Daryl finally swung around to face Rick. “I can’t fucking settle down. Every time I sit or any shit like that, I gotta get back up. Okay?”   
  
Rick swallowed as Daryl pushed past him again. Restlessness. Daryl had to be close to labor if he couldn’t sit still. Cursing under his breath, Rick once again caught up to Daryl but remained walking by his side. “You need to tell me if you feel anything,” he said, putting as much of a demand in his voice as he dared. “I don’t care if it’s nothing, or you think it’s nothing.”

Daryl muttered, but Rick refused to take that as an answer. “Give me an answer.”

“Fucking fine!” Daryl shouted, which was followed by a few far-off groans of walkers alerted to the sound. Rick winced, but Daryl paid them no mind. “I’ve done this shit before, Rick! I know what feels like contractions and what feels like a load of shit.”

“Still,” Rick murmured, trying his best to help Daryl calm back down. He could feel the others staring at them from across the field, though he doubted that anyone would come near Daryl to help sooth him. Maybe Carl. Daryl would just snap at him, too. The hunter had been nothing but agitation, but maybe soon, they could be safe.

Glancing back to the fire, he saw that the others were putting it out. They would be going to sleep. Which meant that Daryl would now refuse to go to sleep because he had to ‘stand guard’ since ‘everyone else is too pussy to.’

Sighing, Rick just resumed his walking, knowing that this would be another long night.

* * *

It didn’t matter how many times Rick saw it. Every time that Daryl got within inches of a walker, his heart would lodge deep in his throat. It didn’t matter if Daryl cut them down like toothpicks. All he could see was the one time it would take to lose everything.

Even so, Daryl still was by his side, crossbow in hand and knife at the ready, as they stormed inside the prison. They took down each walker in silence and precision, like they had done it a hundred times before. A well-oiled machine. Even when Rick opened the gate into the block, Daryl still went in first, leading the way. He was a hunter, after all. Ready for the prey to spring out at any moment. That was something that had never changed with Daryl.

They moved in silence together, checking each cell. When arms suddenly stretched out to grab them through the bars, Daryl just stepped away. Rick took note of his posture, awkwardly twisting his body to make sure that his enlarged stomach was as far away from the rotting hands as possible. Every motion was to protect himself, Rick, and their unborn child.

They cut through the final walkers and flipped them over the edge of the gate, just as the rest of their group walked in. Rick could see their faces wrinkling in disgust over the trapped smell, but if Daryl could handle it, they should as well.

“I ain’t sleeping in no cage,” Daryl growled, his keys tightly grasped in his hand. “I’m sleeping in the perch.”

Because of course he was. It was open, with a clear view of the prison block. Commanding his territory and to keep an eye out for threats. Either that, or Daryl just wanted to see how far the others would go to try to convince him to curl into a bed.

Making a mental note to drag out a mattress or two, Rick took another walk around the prison block. People were claiming their blocks, but he remained outside. He stayed with Daryl, and if Daryl chose to be outside, then so did Rick.

He just hoped that Daryl would go to one of the cells to give birth.  _ That  _ was something that did not need to be displayed to everyone.

Only once the sun started to set outside the prison did Rick finally give into his body’s exhaustion and walked up the stairs to Daryl’s ‘perch.’ He was not surprised to find that Daryl had simply laid down against the cold concrete and used his poncho as a blanket.

“Daryl,” Rick sighed loudly, running shaky fingers through his curls. “At least let me get you a mattress.”

“No,” Daryl grunted, still stubborn. He pulled the poncho up over his shoulders and started the slow process of cocooning himself inside, thus leaving Rick with nothing.

“How about a blanket?”

“Got one.”

“Pillow?”

“Bag’s fine.”

“Are you going to just say no to everything I say?”

“No.”

There was a few moments pause.

“...I mean yeah. Fuck off.”

Rolling his eyes, Rick planted himself down beside Daryl’s curled up body, and ran his hand up and down Daryl’s aching back. The sigh Daryl let out was soon covered up with a cough, but it was still a small victory for Rick. Even as his body loudly complained of laying on the cold concrete, and how he was sure his body would stiffen up in an awkward position, he curled himself up to Daryl’s back as best as he could.

Sweeping his arm around Daryl’s waist, he placed his hand against his stomach, just like every night. Daryl had already gone quiet, and even when Rick placed a soft kiss on his square jaw, still no movement. He got his reason why moments later when a snore leaked out from the poncho mass.

Rick chuckled under his breath and gave Daryl a gentle squeeze. They were safe tonight. All of them were safe.


	3. Cut Through the Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick woke up that morning to a pleasant morning of walking the fence and enjoying the nice weather. Then Daryl comes outside to tell him something important. Then came the walkers. Then came a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a very fluffy chapter, guys. :D

Bodies slumped down against the fence one at a time, and Rick shook off the putrid blood from his machete. How many walkers were still out in the world? He contemplated the question as he went from body to body, prodding at it through the small gaps in the fence. There had been a small decline over the winter, even though there had never been an actual snowfall.

Prodding the long blade out just a bit more, Rick tipped over an obese walker. The clothes on it were fresh… But unfortunately, there was blood on them. Couldn’t be salvaged.

Rick shook his head quickly, forcing away the constant thoughts of scavenging. For once in the long months since the apocalypse began, there was no need to scrape through pockets of dead walkers for the last two rounds of bullets, or for a granola bar that may still be good.

The prison had  _ everything.  _

Food, water, clothing, actual cooking supplies, an  _ infirmary! _ Rick couldn’t believe how many supplies they found in just a couple days of looking. Of course, there had been a price to pay for all those supplies. Hershel’s leg being the most costly. It had been one moment of lapsed judgement that almost cost Hershel his life, and if Rick was honest with himself, more lives after that.

Between the entire group, there was very little medical knowledge. Carol knew how to set sprains and pop in dislocated shoulders. Daryl knew how to stitch up wounds. After that… They were simply clueless on anything that couldn’t be solved with a few bandages.

But as Rick raised his head to look back up at the fenced in yard, he couldn’t stop the small relief that trickled down his spine. Hershel was taking his first steps outside the prison since he lost the leg. Even with as far away as Rick was, he could pick out the people that stood by and watched, each ready to help the older man if he even wavered on his crutches.

Though Rick wasn’t really sure  _ why  _ Hershel had come outside to begin with. It had been agreed upon that Hershel and Daryl were to stay inside until the baby was born, though that rule had more or less been set in place after Hershel was bit.

There was no reason to why Daryl should have been allowed to come with them when they cleared out the next block. Everyone had fought against the idea, since they could clearly see Daryl’s agitation. But… No one could change Daryl’s mind. Not even Rick. Not even  _ Carl,  _ who had begged his father to stay. It was like Daryl thought that the moment he went into labor, he would become useless. Maybe he still thought that having the baby was a death sentence that he would not argue against.

It took Hershel losing his leg to remind everyone about the world they still lived in, and Daryl had not stepped outside the prison block since. He had even chosen a cell for himself, though immediately blocked out the outside with bedsheets. If anything, Daryl had chosen that spot as where he would give birth. Finally having a suitable place to rest and prepare seemed to help him settle down again, and last Rick had seen a few hours ago, Daryl and Hershel were inside the cell and talking, though it was much too low for Rick to hear. Probably putting together a plan.

It was why Rick also couldn’t understand why  _ Daryl  _ had followed close behind Hershel and stepping outside the prison.

Like always, he had the crossbow strapped to his shoulder, his knives at his side, and that stupid poncho. At least Daryl parted with it long enough to let Rick wash it out, which took a solid hour of constant scrubbing. Another positive was that there was actual hot water within the prison. There had to be a boiler room around somewhere, but no one had the desire to search just yet. They had what they needed.

Sliding his machete into the loop of his belt, Rick couldn’t hide the light smirk on his face. Things were looking up. With Hershel on his way to recovering, it put the entire group at ease. Now, Rick could feel the beginnings of excitement for the arrival of the baby. Others were coming out as well, stretching and enjoying the sunshine, but with the more people that came out, the more Rick realized that  _ everyone  _ was coming out.

The closer he came to the group, the more he could hear their light conversation. 

Hershel was assuring everyone that he was fine, giving a few more hobbles if just to prove it, and his color was much better. Maggie and Beth still remained right beside him, nervous to any sudden fall or loss of balance. Lori had brought Carl over to a nearly broken down basketball hoop, where she handed him rocks to try to toss into the netless hoop. Whatever was happening, Carl didn’t seem to care. Lori just looked over her shoulder and flashed that rare smile in his direction, tilting her head in Daryl’s direction.

Carol had joined Daryl’s side, and oddly enough, she had her arm wrapped around his back, like Daryl was leaning into her. She was smiling, too, and her voice was too soft to hear as they murmured back and forth.

His smile widening, Rick carefully made his way to Daryl’s side. His partner looked up at him from under his bangs, and he had a smirk, but one that was filled with unease. That nagging feeling came again in Rick’s stomach, but he stuffed it away. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be bad. Not with everyone outside. Maybe they just wanted to enjoy the good weather.

Carol helped Daryl down the steps, something that Daryl would usually snap at anyone for helping, before giving him one last pat on the back. She flashed the smile back over to Rick just as he approached, and she slipped away to follow Hershel the others.

“Hey,” Daryl grunted, his voice a little rougher than usual. He was leaning slightly, trying to shift his weight from foot to foot as subtle as he could. Rick caught it anyway, and he also saw the light sheen of sweat on Daryl’s forehead as well.

Glancing up, Rick frowned. The sun was covered by clouds. If anything, it was a much nicer day than the past few weeks, and maybe there would be rain. Daryl shouldn’t be too hot.

“Hey,” Rick responded softly, not letting his smile fade. Reaching out, he carefully pulled his arms around Daryl’s waist, letting his palms rest against the small of his back. 

Daryl flinched at the touch, his hands grasping onto Rick’s sides and flexing his fingers into the fabric. “Sorry,” Rick winced, shifting his hands up. He forgot about how much Daryl’s back would ache.

Daryl’s hands still remained at his sides, his fingers clenching and unclenching. He didn’t say anything. Instead he just leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Rick’s shoulder, and let out a low groan. His breath was heavier for some reason. Maybe all those weeks of driving himself to exhaustion were finally catching up to him.

“Come inside,” Daryl grunted, his voice almost muffled with Rick’s shirt. He leaned against Rick’s body, so much so that Rick almost stumbled.

“I will in a bit. Just need to finish my rounds,” Rick soothed, running his hand up and down Daryl’s back, but making sure to avoid the more tender areas. It helped relax Daryl if just barely, but he still felt stiff in Rick’s arms.

It was then that he lifted his head up to glance back at Hershel, only to see everyone staring back at him. Like they were waiting for Rick to do something. His smile faded, and that unease in his body prickled again. All those smiles, he could see the nervousness behind them. Everyone was nervous.

“It can wait,” Daryl muttered, his hands finally relaxing against Rick’s sides instead of constantly wrangling his shirt. “‘S time to go inside, Rick.”

Rick’s eyes flicked back down to Daryl, who was starting to lean heavier and heavier into his arms. With his heart now residing somewhere in his vocal cords, Rick struggled to find words. There was something wrong. Had to be something wrong. “What’s going on?” he croaked, his hands pulling at Daryl’s poncho in some weak attempt to make him look up.

Daryl took in a heavy breath, then rubbed his forehead against Rick’s shoulder, wiping off the sweat. “Fucking dumbass,” he heard Daryl hiss under his breath, before he finally raised his head. Their eyes met, and Daryl’s eyes glistened with a concoction of sensations. Determination, nervousness, and an  _ urge. _

Rick finally felt that same sudden realization he felt ten years ago.

“It’s  _ time  _ to go-”

Someone screamed. Rick didn’t know who. He didn’t know where. But as he jerked up his head, he instantly knew why.

_ Walkers. _

Instantly, Rick’s mind turned blank except for one thought. Saving Daryl.

“Go!” Rick hollered, as if the group needed any command. They had already started to scatter. Some ran for the fences, to the cleared off area inside. Others took out their knives and pistols and started to fight.

While Rick’s immediate thought was to grab his machete and help, he knew that he couldn’t leave Daryl. Not now. Not again.

Grabbing at Daryl’s arm, Rick pulled him back up the steps, even as he saw Daryl reaching for his knife. “Get inside,” Rick hissed, reaching for the door. As long as he could keep Daryl safe, that was all that mattered. Back in the cell. Wait out the sudden rush of walkers. He pulled Daryl through the open door, only to turn around and yank the heavy iron door closed.

Maybe this was just a sudden burst through a wall. Stirred up the walkers. There didn’t seem to be a lot, maybe a dozen. The others would find safety. They had to.

“Rick-!”

“Go, go, go,” Rick hissed, forcing all other thoughts in his head to silence themselves. He had to get Daryl to somewhere safe, away from the walkers. Somewhere calm. He immediately turned towards the cells, knowing that all other doors had been blocked and secured. Dragging Daryl behind him, who was trying his best to keep up with Rick’s pace, Rick forced the panic out of his body.

It would be safe in the cells. In Daryl’s cell. They would wait out the attack. And if the baby was really on the way, then it was the safest part of the entire prison to have it. At least inside the cells, there would be the infirmary and medicine and supplies and-

The low roar of walkers made Rick freeze, jerking Daryl to a stop. He barely heard Daryl’s sharp curse, and the panic came back with a vengeance. The walkers were  _ inside the prison. _

His body froze for just a second, long enough to see the gray staggering bodies fix their sightless eyes on them, before he pulled on Daryl again. Not here. There were other hallways. Ones that weren’t cleared, but there was no choice. All Rick could do was pray to whatever God allowed this to happen to His earth that the way would be cleared.

Spotting the nearest barred gate, Rick pulled the door open and dragged Daryl inside, slamming it close just as the walkers threw themselves against the iron. The metal shook, and decaying hands reached through the bars in a desperate attempt to grab at what could be the first meal they had seen in months.

Rick gritted his teeth together. They had to make a decision. They could try to knife the walkers through the bars, and pray that there was only a few of them between here and the cells, or they went down the hall. To wherever the fuck it went.

“Keep going,” Rick grunted, grabbing at whatever part of Daryl he could reach and pulling him along again. He couldn’t look back at Daryl, couldn’t let himself see what he was thinking. Because Rick knew that he would only see his own fear and panic reflecting back at him. They couldn’t stop to let the facts catch up to them. Just keep going.

It was halfway through the darkened hallway that the alarms started to blare. They were piercing against the concrete, echoing off and creating a tunnel of noise that almost made Rick stop in his tracks. He released his hold on Daryl if just to press his hands to his ears, trying to mute the sound. It was only then that the thought of someone causing this came to his mind.

The prisoners. They were doing this.

Rick firmly filled his head with thoughts of what he would do with the prisoners in an attempt to block out the noise, and reached to his belt for the machete. They were going to pay for this. Whatever happened would be on their heads. They would pay. They would die. They would-

_ “Shit-” _

Daryl’s failed attempt to muffle his pained curse forced Rick back into the present, and to the uncomfortable reality of the situation. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, if there was something that  _ really  _ needed to not happen right now, it was this.

Unable to choke down his fears, Rick forced himself to turn and look back. Daryl had stopped several feet behind him, and was now leaning heavily against the concrete wall. Even in the lack of light, Rick could see his hands knotting into the poncho over his stomach. Contractions. Rick had no idea how long Daryl had been in labor, how close the baby was to coming, but they couldn’t stop now to ask.

“Just a little more, it’s okay,” Rick forced his voice to be as soothing as he could, rushing back to Daryl’s side. What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to help? All those classes ten years ago weren’t doing shit right now! At least if Daryl had a normal labor with Carl, Rick would have some idea of how to help, but now…

Biting his bottom lip, Rick pressed himself against Daryl’s side, pulling his arms around his stomach in some attempt to give Daryl some support. Even as his heart pounded wildly in his chest, Rick knew he had to stay calm. Or at least pretend that he was. “Deep breaths,” Rick breathed, already noticing Daryl’s breaths becoming ragged. “Nice and slow.” In some attempt to demonstrate, Rick sucked in a deep breath, letting it fill his lungs, then let it out slow. His own breath was shuddering in his chest, and he prayed that Daryl couldn’t hear it.

Daryl let out a low groan, a sound that made Rick cringe. He couldn’t handle Daryl being in pain. It wasn’t natural to see Daryl in pain. Daryl would be the one grunting at Rick to suck it up, rub some dirt in it, and keep going. But Daryl was hurting and he didn’t know how to help and-

“M-Move!” Daryl suddenly snarled, and one of his hands grabbed hard into Rick’s hair and yanked, like Rick really needed some sort of motivation. It was only when Rick stared to where Daryl had pulled his head that he felt his body turn to lead.

More walkers. They were hearing the alarms. They couldn’t go back to the gate, and they couldn’t go forward.

Trying to think quickly, he spotted a small passage just to their right.

“I’m sorry,” Rick grunted, being Daryl’s only warning before he pulled Daryl up from against the wall and looped his arm over his shoulder. Daryl only responded with a growl of pain, his steps unsteady, and he was leaning heavily into Rick’s side. Rick wasn’t an idiot, he knew that Daryl shouldn’t be tugged around, but it was either that or walkers.

He would rather try his odds against Daryl’s wrath.

It turned into a maze at that point, desperately staring down long hallways and taking random twists and turns. Daryl had taken his knife out of the sheathe at some point, and was scraping the blade against the wall with each turn; breadcrumbs to find their way back. It was smart and Rick wished he had the mental capacity to think of something like that at the moment.

The walkers were still hot on their heels, as Rick was nearly dragging Daryl along, but they just needed to find safety. Any room. Not just a stupid hallway. A room. Somewhere safe.

It was then that he saw an aged metal sign pointing down a hall. The red letters were scraped and almost unable to be read, but it was their salvation; boiler room. It would be safe there. Had to be safe there.

“Almost,” Rick said through gritted teeth, following the signs that lead him around two more corners. Then, he came to a stumbling stop.

There was the door. Right at a dead end. And the door was chain-locked shut.

Rick unfortunately looked over his shoulder. The walkers were coming down the hall. There was no time. He had to make a decision.

“Hold ‘em off,” Rick grunted, forcing himself to rest Daryl back against the wall. Daryl managed to stay on his feet, whatever contraction he had been in must have passed during their escape. Though his face was already flushed and damp with sweat, Daryl managed to meet his eyes and nod.

It took everything Rick had to tear his eyes away from Daryl, who had raised his knife and tensed his body to attack, to look at the chain. It locked the door to the concrete latch just opposite of the doorframe. Break that, and they could get in.

Rick didn’t know how his hands weren’t shaking as he pulled the machete from his belt, but for just a moment, his mind cleared. Break the chain. Save them. Break the chain. Save them.

Raising his arm, Rick swung the blade down against the chain, cringing at the sound. It didn’t break. Again. He raised his arm again and swung down. Still not broken. He could hear the walkers now, hear Daryl’s grunts and bodies starting to hit the ground. Their blades moved in sync, stabbing a walker and slicing the chain. Stab and slice. Stab and slice.

Two things happened at once. One. Rick swung the machete down once more time, and snapped the chain.

Two. Daryl hit the ground.

All noise stopped at that moment, and all Rick could see was Daryl beneath that walker. Others trying to cluster around him. He saw the walker’s hands claw at Daryl’s swollen stomach, teeth gnawing at his reason for life, and the others starting to swarm on top.

The silence blared in his head as he lunged at the walkers, grabbing and slicing, beating them back. They couldn’t have Daryl. They couldn’t have the baby. Rick refused to let everything be taken away from him again.

It was why he barely felt the teeth sinking into his hand, grabbing the walker that had his teeth at his partner’s stomach. All he could think of was to get those teeth away from Daryl. From the baby. And maybe he would have stood there forever, hacking at walkers with one hand while slamming the head of the one that bit Daryl into the wall with the other, had it not been for the sudden pull against his shoulder.

He felt nothing as he stumbled into the boiler room, and watched as the remaining walkers were cut off from the room as Daryl slammed the sliding door shut. He heard nothing, just watched Daryl’s lips move, and watched the tears in his eyes. Those beautiful blue eyes.

As Daryl knelt over him, Rick numbly stared down at Daryl’s poncho covered stomach. The fabric wasn’t torn. Daryl wasn’t bit. Good. Rick hummed under his breath, even as he could start to feel his hand burn. Rick just laid there, feeling his own heartbeat pulse through the wound that would kill him. That was okay. He gave Daryl a chance.

Maybe he would see the baby. He could help Daryl through his labor. Shit, he really should be helping. But as soon as he started squirming to sit up, Daryl pushed him back down. Daryl’s lips stopped moving at that moment, but his hands were grabbing. At his belt. Weird choice, but maybe Daryl liked it. Maybe he was getting the gun.

Daryl visibly strained and yanked as he pulled at the belt before it finally slipped free from his pants loops. Had Rick not known he was dying, the sight of Daryl tipping over with the sudden freeing of the belt would have been funny. What was he doing with the belt, though?

Those beautiful blue eyes locked with his again, and Daryl reached over and grabbed something off the ground. Rick couldn’t look away from those eyes, like endless oceans. Even if they were filled with tears, with so much emotion and pain that it made Rick’s own heart break, they were still beautiful.

Hey, what was Daryl doing with his machete. He was wiping the blood and endless amounts of gross against his poncho, smearing the black ooze all across the bizzare colors and patterns. He rubbed and rubbed and spat against the blade, until it was as close to clean as Daryl could make it. Okay, another odd choice.

Daryl looked away from Rick, scrambling for the belt again, and Rick followed his movements. He was… Looping the belt around his wrist.

Oh shit.

“You fucking son of a bitch,” Daryl growled between his teeth, just as he yanked hard on the belt, snapping the loop close around his wrist. Cutting off blood flow.

Oh fuck.

Rick couldn’t make the words come out, all he could do was stare. His stomach turned inside out, and he tried to yank his arm away.

“Oh no you fucking don’t,” Daryl snarled at Rick, baring his teeth as he shifted to kneel down beside Rick’s outstretched arm. He was still frantically wiping the blade of the machete against his poncho, trying to get off the last of the blood.

Their eyes met one more time, and at that moment, Rick wanted to throw himself back out to the walkers.

“You ain’t getting outta this that easy.”

Daryl raised the scuffed and dulling machete up into the air, the blade glinting in the small light leaking in through barred windows. Rick found his voice a moment too late.

“No, no, no, no, Daryl-!”

With a snarl, Daryl swung his arm down, and Rick’s vision went white.


	4. Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The baby's coming whether Daryl likes it or not. But first he has to make sure Rick will survive the delivery. After all, this was his fault in the first place.

Every  _ fucking  _ time Rick had to play the  _ goddamn  _ hero, he always found a way to fuck it up! Go searching for someone in the woods? Let Carl get shot as he tried to play with a  _ fucking  _ deer. Go out to help catch some walkers? Endanger the whole  _ fucking  _ group. Bring back the wounded asshole that attacked them? That had been an entire shit show by itself.

And don’t even get Daryl  _ started _ about all that shit he did as an officer. Rick just had to be the fucking hero in every fucked up situation.

Thii? Shoving his  _ goddamn _ hand into the face of a walker that Daryl had been more than capable of killing? Icing on the fucked up cake.

Rick’s scream of pain echoed sharply in the boiler room, but Daryl barely paid it any mind. Fucking idiot deserved this. Trying to get himself killed to protect Daryl. Like he  _ wanted _ to die a hero instead of live and actually fight.

“Shut up,” Daryl growled, staring at the blood gushing out from the cut that didn’t quite go all the way through. The bone was going to be hard to get through. Raising the machete up again, Daryl struck back down, and Rick howled again.

In a desperate attempt to push him away, Rick clawed at Daryl with his free hand, but that only led to pissing Daryl off even more. Not a good idea to piss off your laboring husband cutting off your hand to save your fucking life.

Hissing under his breath, Daryl forced his aching body to move, and knew that he could finally put all this pregnancy weight to good use. Should he have sat himself down on Rick’s chest? Probably not. Daryl probably could have pinned him a shit ton of different ways, but Daryl wasn’t here to give Rick comfort. It did choke off some of Rick’s screams, turning into harsh pants, though the bastard did keep scratching at his poncho.

“I-I’m sorry, please, no, I’m sorry,” Rick begged beneath him, his chest heaving against Daryl’s weight.

“What did I fucking say?” Daryl snapped back, and if only to prove his point, he chopped down one more time. He heard the loud snap of the bone, and Rick managed to find enough air to scream again. Though Rick was still losing a shit ton of blood…

Reaching over, Daryl gave another tug on the belt, managing to yank it just that little more tighter. He would have to take it off later, but for now, it would help prevent spread of the bite. And, you know, make sure he didn’t bleed out. That was important too, he guessed. Finally, Daryl lifted up Rick’s wrist, watching as Rick’s nearly severed hand hung by just a few strands of muscle. Almost done with the gruesome part, as if the rest of what Daryl would do wasn’t gruesome at all.

The hunter laid Rick’s twitching arm onto the stone ground one more time, and gave one last chop. This time, the hand was severed completely and Rick’s remaining limb flailed wildly.

“Quit fuckin’ moving!” Daryl grunted loudly, trying his best to ignore Rick’s continuous pleas. He couldn’t stop to apologize to Rick, not that he deserved an apology, as Rick was still bleeding heavily.

If there was one thing that Merle taught him, it was that he could survive without a hand, having left it on the top of that building in Atlanta. Another thing was that the human body was surprisingly ready to handle a sudden loss of a limb. He told Daryl about a time in the army where he watched someone’s leg get blown off. To Merle’s surprise, it hadn’t turned into a tidal wave of red. Apparently, the veins snapped shut mere minutes after the amputation.

That didn’t mean that Daryl could just let Rick’s body handle the clotting by itself. Glancing up from Rick’s newly acquired stump, he let out a quick breath of relief. Coming to the boiler room may have been the best decision Rick’s made in weeks.

“C’mere,” Daryl said between gritted teeth, that urgency pushing him on. He had certainly not forgotten that he was still in labor, even though Rick seemed to have forgotten everything except for his bleeding arm. If he wanted to get Rick patched up, he had to do it now rather than have to wait through another contraction.

Rolling himself off of Rick’s chest, Daryl managed to fight down the urge to roll his eyes at Rick’s panting gasps and whimpers. “Fucking dramatic bastard,” he muttered under his breath, shuffling to his knees, the only position he could get in that wasn’t excruciating. The nearest boiler was just about six feet away, but if Daryl had to drag Rick over, it would be like miles. Looks like Rick was going to actually have to do something for himself.

“Need you to get up,” Daryl grunted, staring down at Rick’s rapidly paling expresion. He just stared back at him with wide blue eyes, like he had instead told Rick to go run a few miles with the walkers.

But to Rick’s credit, he was lucid enough to start struggling, even though his movements were jerky and sporadic at best. Though that soon stopped when Rick decided to try to boost himself up by his left hand- the one he no longer had. Rick’s screech of pain made Daryl flinch and grit his teeth together, that little bit of empathy that wasn’t currently drowned by labor pains and nerves acting up. Rick soon slumped back down to the ground, a quivering mess, but after a few seconds, sucked in his breath through his teeth and started struggling back up.

It took precious time for Rick to shift to a sitting position, and even longer to any form of kneeling. Rick swayed on his knees, eyes blankly staring down at his severed hand still laying on the ground. “Hey, focus on me,” Daryl snapped, his own internal clock ticking away the time to the next contraction. Had to do this quick.

Rick’s slightly glazed eyes stared back at Daryl, mouth dropped open in silent cries of pain, but he nodded. Good, maybe they could get this fucked up shit over with. Glancing back to the closest boiler, Daryl shifted on his knees and reached out, grabbing onto Rick’s shoulder. What happened next was clumsy and uncoordinated, but Daryl managed to get to his feet by using Rick’s weight as some sort of an anchor.

Damn, he was gonna be glad to get rid of all this fucking weight.

Standing up came with its own problems, as everything in his body was screaming at him to get back down, but he had to ignore his own instinct. “C’mon,” Daryl grunted, tightening his hand on Rick’s shoulder and starting to tug.

Rick sort of shuffled on his knees, and at one point had gained enough courage to try to stand, only to stumble back down. The one good part is that he stumbled  _ forward, _ and ate up some of the distance between them and the boiler. Now was for the bad part. Rick didn’t seem to be understanding what Daryl wanted, maybe just him thinking of using the boiler to keep warm. It wasn’t a bad idea to help keep Rick from going into shock, but there were more important matters.

Like cauterizing the shit out of Rick’s stump.

Daryl didn’t warn Rick, not when it probably would have resulted in Rick freaking the fuck out, but he almost wish he did. At least then when Daryl had grabbed Rick’s arm and shoved the bleeding stump against the hot boiler, he wouldn’t have had to hear Rick’s immediate screech and begging to be let go. “This is your fuckin’ fault!” Daryl snapped, if only to stuff that guilt farther down that he was causing this pain in the first place.

Daryl held his arm there for several seconds, listening to the hiss of flesh burning against the iron, before that  _ pain  _ came again.

This wasn’t Daryl’s first labor. At least, the first time starting a labor. He knew enough about the pain from the start of Carl’s labor, but Carl had decided to rip up his fucking placenta or some shit and cut that labor short. This time? Nothing was stopping it.

He crumpled back down to his knees, yelping out a curse and let go of Rick’s arm if just to clutch his stomach. Fuck, that hurt! It felt like a burning, throbbing pain had taken everything from the belly down. It was at this moment that he desperately wished for Hershel’s watch, wanting to know how many more seconds he had to deal with this pain before it would pass.

The only good thing was that it blocked out the rest of the world, and made him forget for a moment of their situation; the walkers still scratching at the door, his bleeding and delirious husband collapsed beside him, and the fact that there was no one to help them. It was just him and his body, his fucked up body that wanted this kid out pretty damn quick. All he could do was focus on his own staggered breaths, and slip in a cuss now and then just in case Rick was still lucid.

The contraction finally ended, and Daryl couldn’t hold back his low groan of relief. Just a little while longer of this shit. Daryl also knew, though, that it was going to get worse before it was going to get any better.

Blinking open his eyes again, Daryl saw that Rick had managed to get up to his knees without his help, and was examining the amputation with wide eyes again. Much to Daryl’s relief, the bleeding was much less than before, maybe down to a drip rather than a faucet at full blast. When Rick’s eyes met his, Daryl could see that there was a bit more clarity. That initial shock must have passed, but they weren’t out of danger yet. The adrenaline was taking over and led to a new set of problems.

“Lay down,” Daryl grunted, his voice more gravelly than before. Rick blinked at him momentarily, then obeyed. Still on his knees, Daryl shuffled back to his side. The biggest thing was to keep the blood flow to the head, his oxygen up, and his body warm. While he couldn’t do shit for oxygen, he had enough to keep him warm.

He grabbed at the thick wool of the poncho and pulled it up and over his head, letting it pool on the ground. There was still a good amount of walker blood that coated it, but Rick better not be too picky. Daryl grabbed at the knife in his belt and pulled the poncho closer and looked over the stained pattern one last time, feeling his heart plummet. It was just so warm and comfortable… And Rick was making him fuck it all up.

Sucking in a deep breath, Daryl started cutting at the seam of the poncho, separating it out into one long stretch of fabric. Once that was done, he searched for the cleanest parts of the fabric and began cutting off random strips. It sure as fuck wasn’t bandages, but it would help protect the wound from infection until they got out.

Well, if they could get out. All this blood had put the walkers in a fit, judging by the pounding against the door and the louder groans. Daryl’s guess was at least a dozen. If he was actually going to give birth right here, there was no fucking way he would be stabbing a dozen walkers right after.

Separating out the strips, Daryl glanced back over at Rick. He was watching him steadily, eyes focused. Rick winced as their eyes met, an apology hanging on his lips, but Daryl didn’t want to hear it. “Here,” he grunted, tossing the ripped and ruined poncho atop of Rick’s body. It fared as a pretty decent blanket. Just as he started wrapping the strips around Rick’s stump, the asshole spoke up.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t- I-I thought-”

“Shut up,” Daryl muttered again. “Focus on not fucking dying.”

That made Rick close his mouth immediately, and Daryl took a quick look over his limb. He still needed to keep it elevated… Maybe he still had some use for his weight after all.

Daryl slowly moved to the wall, where he could finally slump down against it with a low hiss. Everything still hurt. It hadn’t  _ stopped _ hurting since early that morning. He knew that was normal, Hershel said it was normal, but it was still fucked. Sliding himself down, Daryl finally found a somewhat comfortable position laying on his back, before laying Rick’s arm overtop the mass that was his stomach.

“Don’t move,” Daryl said, his eyes flicking back over to Rick’s. He was still awake, and other than a wince at moving around his arm, he was silent. It was a much desired change from a few minutes ago, from the frantic screaming and swearing, but was almost a little bit too quiet. Any second now…

“I-I thought the walker… I thought it bit you.”

Daryl held back a snort. Of course he did. Granted, Daryl thought that too for a good moment, but when he couldn’t even feel those teeth past his poncho… “That’s what the poncho was for, dipshit,” Daryl replied, managing to sit still long enough to rest his head against the wall and close his eyes.

Rick just mumbled beside him, at least some sign that he was lucid. Daryl needed to keep him from falling asleep. Falling unconscious wasn’t going to help either of them. Well, Rick wouldn’t feel the pain, but Daryl needed to make sure he was  _ alive. _ Soon, he was going to be a bit too preoccupied to keep checking for breath. The only way he could keep Rick awake was either giving him something to do or… just entertain the ass.

“Pretty shitty way to get yourself bit,” Daryl muttered, glancing from the corner of his eye to the pale hand still laying on the ground, surrounded by a pool of blood. Maybe he could chuck it out the door to distract the walkers. Maybe he could use it during his labor and actually break it without fucking up Rick’s remaining hand.

Rick wheezed out a soft laugh, instinctually forcing Daryl to smirk. “Thought I grabbed it by the sockets, not the, uh…”

“The open mouth of a walker?”

“That.”

Daryl laughed this time, even if it was more of a puff. He took in a deep breath and closed his eyes again, forcing whatever body part he could to relax. He placed his hands against his tense stomach, with the movements almost silent inside. Seeing Rick get bit had thrown both himself and the baby into a fit, but she seemed to have settled back down. Didn’t need her fighting her way out. Carl did enough of that the first time.

“Did, uh. Um. Want to catch me up on, uh…” Rick mumbled, his voice a little stronger. “The reason you, um… Had everyone go outside so we…”

“I ain’t having them fucking around while Hershel’s wrist deep in my ass,” Daryl quipped, his words sour. “Had been waiting for your sorry ass to come inside for two fucking hours. I came out ‘cause I wanted to see daylight for the first time in three fucking days.”

“You could have-”   
  
“Shut up,” Daryl snapped back, cutting Rick off before he could say anymore. Daryl didn’t need Rick telling him what to do. Not when he  _ knew  _ now that he was the reason everyone was outside. Everyone unprotected by the cells. In the open space. As walkers closed in.

Swallowing around that sudden anxiety, he choked it down. No, they had to be fine. He saw the knives and the guns. They can take care of themselves.

But Carl… Shit, Carl.

His fingers tightened into the fabric of his shirt, knotting it up and pulling. Now that he had a moment to think, to process all this… His stupid pride could have gotten them killed. All of them. Even now, they weren’t safe. Not with the baby on the way and walkers scratching at the door. He could  _ still _ hear them! Why wouldn’t they leave?!

“Hey, hey,” Rick murmured right against his ear, Daryl’s eyes flashing open to see his head mere inches away from his own. His pale blue eyes, even when slightly fogged, still focused entirely on Daryl. A light pressure against his stomach told him that Rick was trying his best to rub soothing circles into his stomach, just like in the last long six months.

Daryl choked down some outburst, something along the lines of ‘Don’t act like everything’s okay because it isn’t.’ Biting into the inside of his cheek, he forced himself into silence, but unable to break his gaze from Rick’s. He didn’t even know what he wanted; for Rick to say that everything was alright, or tell Daryl exactly why nothing was alright. His rapid heart was pleading for the comforting lie.

Rick just stayed silent for a few moments, then slowly rested his head down onto Daryl’s chest if just to keep from using more strength. He did lose a shit ton of blood after all. “I’m right here,” Rick murmured instead, casting his other arm to circle Daryl’s stomach. “I won’t let anything happen.”

“You can’t say that,” Daryl growled before he could force it back, that anxiety rising in his chest. Shit, how long until the next contraction? He had been so focused on them before, timing them down almost to the second, and now he got thrown off. Shit.  _ Shit. _ Why was he so bad at this?

“Yes I can, and I will,” Rick replied with a surprising amount of firmness. His eyes remained as focused on Daryl’s face as he could in Daryl’s slouched position. He cleared his throat and took in a deep breath, one that made Daryl’s heart clench up.

“Tell me what I can do to help. How close do you think you are?”

Daryl swallowed again. He didn’t even know where to start. Hershel had everything laid out and ready in the cell, had the blankets, the towels, the scissors, the bandages, the medicine, the baby clothes, the rags, the water-

“Daryl. I’m supposed to be the one barely here.”

Rick’s faint smirk almost made Daryl snort, but he held it back. Okay, slow down. Think. What did Hershel have that he absolutely needed? How much longer could he wait? “Before we went out, I was under four minutes,” he murmured, trying not to wince at Rick’s widening eyes.

“Darling, why did you  _ wait?”  _ Rick groaned loudly, pressing his face down into Daryl’s chest with exasperation.

“Doesn’t fucking matter now,” Daryl snapped in return, his hands clenching down on his shirt again. “Less than five minutes. Hershel said could be a couple hours. Don’t know how long we’ve been here, ten minutes? Five? Could wait it out, co-”

Nope, waiting wasn’t going to be much of an option, not as that pain stabbed into his stomach, ripping down all the way to between his legs like a hot blade. Daryl shouted some curse, he didn’t care which one, and the rest of the world stopped again. Just him and pain, panting breath, and the wish for it to all be over already. Nothing Daryl hadn’t already come to expect with labor. He just would rather it be in the cell on a mattress and not with a handless partner.

When his jumbled thoughts came together, all that came through was that it had been the worst contraction by far, and Rick had peeled himself off of Daryl’s body. And that his lower half suddenly felt cold. And wet.

Cracking open his eyes again, he blinked away the tears and saw Rick on his knees right beside him, and at first panicked at Rick’s pale face. But then he remembered the blood loss. Rick would just keep being pale for a while.

Daryl watched as Rick swallowed a bit hard, his hand working to pull down Daryl’s pants even more, which explain the coldness. But not the wet.

“I-I think that was the water.”

That explained it.

“Shit,” Daryl panted, his mind sprinting to find instructions on what to do next. It seemed like Rick was trying to do the same thing, his eyes darting around like there was suddenly going to be a delivery ward and a readied nurse two feet away from them.

“Blanket,” Rick suddenly said, grabbing at the soiled poncho. Well, not like it would suffer by including more stains. Though just as Rick grabbed it, Daryl watched as his left arm reached back for the knife, only to hiss in pain when he rammed the stub against the hilt.

“I-I need to cut off a clean bit, there’s too much, I’ll lose the baby in it,” Rick tried to joke through gritted teeth, his eyes watering with tears at that pronounced pain. “You hold it?”   
  
“Don’t got a choice,” Daryl grunted, only just getting a grasp on his breathing again. All those stupid lessons on breathing ten years ago would come in real handy right now. He felt like he was moments away from passing out, like he wasn’t getting enough air. Or that was just his panic.

Rick dragged over the ponch and laid it down next to Daryl, then pointed to where Daryl needed to hold it. The entire effort was clumsy with Rick's hand shaking with the adrenaline, and Rick just about cut off Daryl’s hand in return at one point, but they managed to cut through the wool in half. As if realizing himself that there was no salvaging any of the fabric at this point, Rick flashed an apologetic smile to Daryl before dragging one half of the poncho and draping it over Daryl’s now bare legs in some attempt at decency.

Nothing about the shit that was coming was going to be decent.

“So, uh, I…” Rick cleared his throat again, unable to look Daryl in the eye. “Can I… I know I should have a glove or, uh, anything, but-”   


“Just fucking do it!” Daryl snapped, anchoring his hands down into his shirt if just to prevent himself from grabbing at Rick. Rick lowered his head even more, mumbling an apology, but Daryl just stared up at the ceiling. As soon as this was over, Daryl wasn’t letting Rick touch him for fucking weeks. He could feel his cheeks turning red, and even as his body begged him to squirm away, he stayed still.

“I think we still have some time,” Rick finally said, sitting back up to Daryl’s line of sight and rubbing his hand against Daryl’s discarded pants. Because those were probably ruined too. Finally Rick looked back at Daryl, even with his head still lowered and his cheeks red. “What do you want me to do?”

Daryl’s first response probably would have been something sarcastic had he not put some real thought into it. There wasn’t any way they could get water, but Daryl’s stomach was in so many knots that he doubted he could keep it down. Trying to keep his voice from shaking, he asked, “Do you remember any of the shit the classes taught us about, uh… breathing?”

Even as shame built up in his mind, since what kind of an idiot wouldn’t know how to breathe, Rick just seemed to be relieved. “Yeah, yeah I remember,” he smiled, soon shifting closer to Daryl’s side. Instead of laying down, which honestly Daryl should be making him do to prevent any more shock, he just leaned his back against the wall in the same slouching position as Daryl.

Able to get a clearer look at his face, Daryl could see his paleness even more. Taking a quick glance over at Rick’s stump, he could see the blood staining through the fabric, but not much more other than that. All Daryl could do at this point was try to keep an eye on him, but the lingering pain was making it hard to focus.

Rick remained pressed to his side for what Daryl could only define as an eternity. During that time, Rick helped him breathe through the contractions, which by itself was an immense relief. Though Rick started slouching down after the first two, and soon resumed his position with his head laying on Daryl’s chest. His strength and adrenaline must already be draining, which only led to another problem. The baby wasn’t going to catch itself. Daryl had no idea how he could do it himself, and… Rick only had the one hand. The one hand that was currently clenched between Daryl’s fingers, while his other hand just grabbed at Rick’s upper arm.

Rick tried to keep him distracted with little talks about nothing important, like his plans on farming the land inside the gate, and that there had to be wild boars and pigs nearby, and that he was glad he got bit on his left hand since his right was his shooting hand, and… Well, his main hand. To do stuff. And things. Daryl was glad, too, but not right now.

Not when he was shivering and shaking with each contraction, almost pushing Rick off sometimes if just by reflex like he was the one causing the pain. He was, of course, but he couldn’t focus on that. All he could think about was the  _ pressure.  _ The pressure that felt like it came out of nowhere and now wouldn’t  _ leave. _

“Time to go?” Rick asked, his voice surprisingly clear as he tried to sit back up straight. Daryl barely heard his voice over his own panting breath, but found enough concentration to nod.

By the time he blinked open his eyes again, Rick had already started scraping at the other half of the poncho. Though Daryl could still see him swaying on his knees, his eyes fluttering as he fought against his own blood loss.

If there was any time for there to be a fast delivery, it better be now.

“Olay, give me a minute,” he said, shuffling himself to between Daryl's legs. Any humiliation Daryl could have felt at this point was overthrown by the pain. He just needed to get this baby  _ out. _

Watching Rick drag over his knife, Daryl swallowed. All he could hope was that it would only need to be used to cut the cord. He had come too far for things to go wrong. Rick took a quick glance down at his things, doing a mental inventory, before looking up at Daryl. Even when his face was still shockingly pale, he held a strong gaze, filled with determination.

“You can do this. On the next contraction, just start pushing. I'll help you.”

Daryl tried to not notice Rick's trembling, at how his hand was shivering as it rested against his thigh, and just grunted. Closing his eyes again, Daryl sat himself up as far as he dared against the wall and pressed his palms to the cold concrete floor for support. The seconds ticked by, and no amount of strength could have prepared him for the contraction that came without mercy.

His shout was still ringing in his ears as his fingers clawed against the concrete, bearing down with everything he had. Daryl didn't bother with silencing himself, he didn't care if it scared Rick. If something went wrong, then he refused to go down quietly.

Rick's voice barely managed to bleed through his racing mind, trying to give what little support he could in his position. But what he could also hear were the walkers. They were pounding against the door, alerted by his pained shouts and probably the smell of fresh blood.

By the time Rick told him to stop, Daryl felt like his strength was already leaving him. Spots flooded his eyes but he shook his head. No, he wouldn't die. Not like this. He couldn't. Gasping for breath, he adjusted his hands even as his arms were shaking.

“That was a good one, just a couple more just like that,” Rick praised, managing to meet Daryl's gaze for a split second. “Just stay with me. Baby girl, right? That's what it's going to be?”

Gritting his teeth together, Daryl nodded. “G-girl,” he panted.

“Girl. Our baby girl. You always wanted a girl, right?”

Daryl just groaned and rested his head back against the wall. The pain was worse than anything else he ever experienced in his life. The beatings, clawing out of the ravine, even Carl's birth. Yet he still managed to focus on Rick's words like his life support.

“What do you want to name her?”

Any answer Daryl would have given was turned into a cry of pain as the contractions struck again, but he started to push anyway. Just keep fighting through it. All the while, Rick kept talking.

“I've been thinking about names, too. You wanted to name Carl Hunter. We can do that if it's a boy. How about Bonnie? Lily? Delilah? Saisha? Deep breaths, darling. You're doing great.”

The pain didn't leave this time, turning into more of a burn. Daryl could feel the tears starting to run down his face, or maybe it was sweat. He had to be close. The baby was almost here, he just needed a little longer.

“E-Ellie,” he gasped out, his breaths uneven and ragged. It felt like he couldn't get enough air, like he was passing out. But he just focused on Rick's voice, pulling him back to consciousness. “Her name… is Ellie.”

“I like it. Ellie Grimes.”

Cracking open his eyes again, Daryl saw Rick starting to shift, grabbing at the poncho and focusing his attention to between his legs. “Ellie's right here, I'll help you. Okay? I'll catch her.”

She must be almost here. His little girl.  _ Their  _ little girl. After all this time, all the lives lost, they were going to bring one back to the world.

This time, Daryl was ready. Balling up his fists, Daryl took in one more deep breath and pushed with everything he had.

He could hear Rick's encouragement, guiding him through the last contraction. It was agonizing, but he could feel it. Feel her.

“I got her, just a little more!”

A little more, that's all that's left. And it was all Daryl had as he felt the darkness trying to pull him in. No, she was here. She had to be. He refused to go.

Suddenly his eyes flashed open, staring up at the ceiling. It was suddenly quiet. He could hear Rick's soft voice, murmuring so quietly that he could barely hear. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he said, his eyes focused down and his face morphed into concentration. “C'mon, breathe for daddy.”

Breathe. She wasn't breathing.

It was like the world fell out from beneath him in a singular moment, and all Daryl could do was let out a choked sob. After all of this, she was dead. He had failed.

He could see her in the crook of Rick's arm, her skin so pale and nearly gray. Rick was desperately rubbing at her with the poncho, against her stomach, her arms, her legs and head. She wasn't moving, just hanging limply, eyes closed.

Rick wouldn't look up and just kept rubbing her still body. His hand was shaking. His shoulders quivering. And then Daryl saw the tears. “Ellie, c'mon, baby girl,” Rick whispered.

Choking back the sobs, Daryl let himself fall back against the wall. His baby was dead. Their baby. After fighting for so long, so hard-

Then Daryl saw the color rush into her skin, and she stole his breath by taking the first one of her own. It ended with a cough, then another, then became the most beautiful noise he had ever heard.

Crying.

Rick let out a soft sob of relief, but managed to pull himself back together. The rubbing gentled, trying to wipe off her wet body. “There you go,” he soothed, flipping over the piece of fabric and trying to tuck it around her now squirming body.

Daryl instinctively held out his arms, reaching for the bundle that Rick held so carefully. Slowly, Rick started to shift back to Daryl's side, and started to slide her into Daryl's waiting arms.

He could barely see past the tears streaming down his face, and he didn't care. Because he could feel her. She was warm. She was beautiful. And she was  _ here. _

Rick cut the cord carefully, though they struggled momentarily to tie the end of the cord, with a good amount of cursing passed between them. But they cursed through grins, and Rick peppered Daryl's face with soft kisses.

Daryl lost himself within the pride and happiness in Rick's eyes, saying a thousand words in a single gaze. No words could come through Daryl's mouth, he didn't need them. In slow motions, Rick helped Daryl tuck their baby against his chest, tucking her under his shirt and resting her against his skin. Her crying dimmed to soft whimpers as she nestled against him, searching for warmth.

Rick picked up the other half of the poncho and began to drape it over their bodies. “Rest,” he breathed, looking into Daryl's eyes again. “We're going to make it. We're going to be fine.”

Still unable to force the words from his mouth, Daryl just nodded. It didn't matter that there were still walkers pounding on the door. Because they were together. The rest could wait.

Rick settled slowly into his side, sweeping his arm across Daryl's chest and pulling them close. Ellie's whimpers had soothed, and even when Daryl knew that he needed to do something, anything, his body refused to let him move. Just rest.

Finally, Daryl closed his eyes, and let sleep overtake him.

* * *

Daryl jerked awake in a start, eyes flashing open and almost jumping to his feet, had it not been for the instantaneous reminder of what his body had just suffered through. Glancing down to Ellie, he saw she was asleep. Rick was asleep as well, his head resting on Daryl's shoulders.

Before Daryl could even try to think of what would wake him from his much deserved rest, he heard them. Heard the grunts and calls of people, of bodies thudding to the ground. He stared at the door in silence, unable to pull together the energy to even call to them.

 

When the door opened, Daryl couldn't decide between feeling immense relief or irritation that they had not been rescued hours ago. He stared at the shocked faces of Glenn, Maggie and Andrea, all frozen where they stood at the doorway.

Glancing down at both himself, Ellie and Rick, all tucked beneath the stained and ruined poncho, he glanced back up and muttered, “Fucking took you long enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of this particular arc! Next arc will begin a few days after, when a certain villain starts making an appearance. Stay tuned, I'll make this a series and link the two together <3


End file.
